


Home

by taegyungie



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Absolutely nothing but fluff, Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, there's no other tags besides fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8680120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taegyungie/pseuds/taegyungie
Summary: Chanyeol knows one thing for sure: Jongin is his home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My girlfriend was like "write me a cute chankai fic!" and I was like "Ok i'll do anything for u" and so I wrote this in like 45 minutes at midnight soooo enjoy.

Chanyeol wakes up before Jongin. 

 

He stretches his legs, feet dangling off the end of the bed, the sounds of waves crashing against the shore creeping in through the window. Chanyeol glances quickly out, watching as the sun stands sturdily above the water, the breeze blowing through palm fronds and forcing chills through the ocean, making her shudder with waves. It’s breathtakingly beautiful.

 

Chanyeol moves his groggy gaze down to Jongin. Ah, yes. This is even better.

 

Stark white sheets contrast magically against the honeyed tone of Jongin’s skin. He’s curled up, like he always sleeps, his knees tucked in close to make him seem impossibly small. Chanyeol is completely dumbfounded, like he is every morning that he wakes up to Jongin’s syrupy smiles and gentle eyes.

 

This time, though, there’s a glint of white gold on the hand tucked under his cheek. Brand new, expensive, sentimental, monumental. On his fourth finger of his left hand, sits a shiny new ring, his first morning waking up with it on. Chanyeol purposely chose white gold, loving the way the light metal makes his skin look positively bronze.

 

He looks down at his own hand, his own ring - golden and stylish and cool to the touch. He’ll get used to it. He loves his ring. And Jongin’s. Despite the juxtaposition of the colours, they both have the same engraving on them.

 

_ If my heart was a house you’d be home. _

 

It’s terribly cheesy. Enough to have Chanyeol grinning down at his hand, then Jongin’s. Jongin has always been a sucker for the romantics. And - no matter how much he hates to admit it - it’s the same with Chanyeol. Chanyeol, who scrunches his nose at unrealistic romantic comedies, audibly gags at cheesy dramas, but treats Jongin to home cooked meals on Valentine’s Day and puts little sticky notes in his lunch sometimes and is determined to spend every waking moment of his life reminding Jongin that he loves him. Endlessly. Unconditionally.

 

Jongin’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek and Chanyeol thinks he might awaken. He doesn’t, nearly curls in on himself further, lips pressing into the cool metal ring on his hand. Chanyeol can’t help but sigh.

 

It’s an interesting and long story, how they ended up here. Chanyeol pursuing Jongin after meeting him briefly through mutual friends, deciding the dancer was the single most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on and there’s no way he’ll go without it. Jongin, stubborn in his own reserved way, turning Chanyeol down over and over. Chanyeol had only assumed it was shyness, but really, it was fear.

 

The younger man didn’t know how Chanyeol loved. How Chanyeol  _ loves _ . Park Chanyeol is a giver, if nothing, and when he finds someone worthy of sacrifices, he pours them out through his skin and his eyes and his mouth. Jongin, a gift in itself, deserved so much from Chanyeol from day one, that all he wanted was to give and give and give and give until there was nothing of Chanyeol left.

 

Except, the more Chanyeol gave, the more Chanyeol grew. Jongin was glowing, flourishing, radiant under his attention and with every flower Jongin blossomed, Chanyeol grew one just the same. It’s a perfect system, they have. Growing, sharing, growing some more. Chanyeol thought Jongin was insurmountably beautiful the night he met him, but seeing him now, fully bloomed and warm with content, Chanyeol knows he was wrong.

 

And, somehow, he’s going to continue making Jongin more and more beautiful.

 

Jongin finally stirs, reflexively reaching for Chanyeol, cool hands meeting hot skin. The night before was long, strenuous, perfect in every way, so it’s amazing to Chanyeol that they’re both even awake before noon. Chanyeol doesn’t scoot in closer to Jongin, rather cradling his half-asleep form in his arms and pulling him in close. 

 

Jongin hums, chest vibrating against Chanyeol’s. “Good morning, husband.” 

 

It could be the way Jongin’s lips brush the flesh of Chanyeol’s neck as he speaks, or the sensation of his voice warm against him… but Chanyeol is  _ certain  _ it’s the fact that Jongin can call him his  _ husband _ that has his heart leaping miles.

 

Jongin presses kisses into the crook of Chanyeol’s neck, his arms snaking tightly around his waist, his body so warm and soft and gentle against him. Chanyeol has always loved how perfectly soft Jongin is. A gentle force, a summer breeze; never a thunderstorm or earthquake like Chanyeol can sometimes be.

 

“Ah, Jongin,” Chanyeol sighs, breathing in the floral scent of Jongin’s shampoo. “My  _ husband _ .”

 

It’s all far too surreal. Sure, it hasn’t even been a day, but Chanyeol doesn’t think he’ll get used to it. It’s been over two years now, and he still isn’t used to the way Jongin sounds in the morning. Lilted and husky and puffy with sleep. Somehow, miraculously, even softer.

 

When Chanyeol blinks, he has vivid memories of how Jongin looked yesterday. His hair perfectly styled off his face, his suit tailored to perfection, his eyes positively sparkling with excitement. He also has vivid memories of how Jongin looked last night. His hair disheveled, his body bare and flush, his eyes hooded and darkened. Both equally stunning. Both accompanied by the vivid memory of Jongin constantly telling Chanyeol he loves him. Whether it be an excited whisper or a breathy murmur.

 

Chanyeol is so unmistakably, irreversibly, undeniably in love. Since early on, Chanyeol has truly felt like he’s holding a fallen star in his long arms, emitting light and warmth and wonder. Chanyeol soaks in Jongin’s powers, lets the positive glow of Jongin’s skin seep into his pores and make Chanyeol something better. He’s pretty sure, long ago, in another life, they were two shooting stars that crashed into each other and, rather than a disastrous explosion, a nebula was formed.

 

There has never been hurt, pain, breaking between them. Sure, they’ve had arguments, but they were short-lived and quickly resolved, only growing stronger together after each one. There has been nothing but creation between them, never destruction. There’s a garden in Chanyeol’s chest that’s green and colourful and lush and prosperous. He hadn’t realized it before, but it was once a barren wasteland, merely providing him the breath he needs to survive. Now, everything he is, is so much more.

 

“I love you,” Jongin murmurs, seeming to drift off into slumber again. Chanyeol hums his response, thinking.

 

Of course, Chanyeol had said “I love you” first. That’s how Chanyeol does things. He dives in head first, baring his teeth and letting walls tumble down. Jongin, however, is carefully crafted in everything. Every sentence, every touch, every  _ blink  _ is down to a science to him, a defence mechanism. Jongin doesn’t like being hurt, and he’s aware of how terribly delicate he is.

 

When Jongin  _ did  _ first say “I love you”, however, it was utterly perfect. While Chanyeol had made a show of it, taking him out for a moonlit walk and pointing out constellations in the sky, knowing that was the night he would confess, Jongin’s slipped through his pretty lips in perfect timing. Snorting into the rim of his coffee as Chanyeol finished a hilarious story about a workmate, Jongin giggled the three words so gently, so softly, Chanyeol could practically feel them resting against his skin. The words are still there, he’s sure. Kissing the height of his cheekbone, his left shoulder, as Jongin had been sitting at his left, looking so cute with his scarf wrapped up over his mouth from the cold.

 

Jongin is a welcome presence. Jongin is the first sip of coffee in the morning. Jongin is sleeping until noon on a Saturday. Jongin is blanket forts and fairy lights and homemade cookies. Jongin is - without any doubt - Chanyeol’s home.

 

Even on this foreign, warm, unfamiliar island halfway across the world, Chanyeol is very much at home. He’s been at home since he first convinced Jongin to let him treat him to dinner. He’ll be at home until the day he dies.

 

He knows he’ll never really die. He’ll find Jongin in some other life, just as they were when they were colliding somewhere in space. Chanyeol - so long as Jongin is here, breathing steady breaths against his collarbone, humming contentedly in his slumber - is always home.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: taebaekult  
> tumblr: taetaeofficial


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